


Maharajah

by glitterburn (orphan_account)



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Costumes, M/M, Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-28
Updated: 2010-09-28
Packaged: 2017-10-12 06:48:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/122055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/glitterburn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nico persuades Adrian to play dress-up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maharajah

**Author's Note:**

> for Val, who showed me the all-too-brief RTL clip of Adrian wearing a maharajah's costume.

"Let's see, what do we have in here?" Nico flings open Adrian's wardrobe doors and peers inside.

Adrian groans and hides his face in his hands, waiting for mockery. He just knows Nico will find some really hideous outfits in there, old shirts and t-shirts he's never got around to throwing away, things he used to love once but that no longer fit him and are no longer stylish, or were never particularly stylish at all.

Coat hangers rattle. Zips on garment bags purr. Plastic rustles. Then there's silence.

Adrian wonders what Nico's found. Best to head off any hysterical laughter with a stern reminder on the whims of fashion: "Before you say anything, you should know that the 80s style is in again these days."

"What did you say?" Nico ducks out of the wardrobe, hair mussed and falling in his face. "I found something."

On the bed, Adrian cringes inwardly. "Oh?"

"This!" Nico pulls out a maharajah's costume, the protective bag fluttering around the neatly aligned garments. "I remember this from the RTL season preview. You actually bought it?"

Embarrassed, Adrian dips his head, his vanity prodded. "Vijay insisted." It's not entirely a lie. Vijay encouraged him, true, but Adrian bought it because he loved the colours, gold and dusky rose, and the intricacy of the embroidery, the glimmer and flash of the threads. The costume complemented his skin, his eyes and hair. He liked how it made him look, how it made him feel. Confident. Regal. A man in charge of his destiny. In the Indian bazaar, it was an illusion worth buying.

He hasn't worn it since.

"Put it on." Nico carries the outfit over to the bed, the flimsy plastic bag crinkling and crushing in his hands, and lays it down beside Adrian.

The lines of the garments are unfamiliar after all this time. Adrian stares, remembering how he felt when he bought the costume, registering how he feels about it now. The outfit still carries that 'new clothes' smell, untainted by the scent of his skin or the lavender sachets his mother gives him to chase away moths.

"Put it on," Nico says again, softly, urgently.

"Now?" Adrian asks, uncertain. It's one thing to pose and preen in front of a TV crew—it's not real then, it's make-believe, entertainment, meaningless—and quite another to dress up in front of his lover and friend.

Nico grins. "Now. Go on. You looked hot when you wore it last time."

It's the past tense that does it. Adrian wants Nico to look at him now, to look at him with longing, with heat. His mind made up, Adrian says, "If I'm going to be a maharajah, you'll have to be my slave-boy."

"Slave?" Nico tilts his head, considering. His eyes gleam. "I can get into that."

"Start now." Adrian puts haughtiness into his voice, trying for command. "In the bathroom—there's a box, wooden, inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Bring it to me."

Nico bows his head, enough to play at respect but not enough to hide his smile, then hurries to obey.

Adrian waits for Nico to leave the room before he uncurls from the bed and gets to his feet. He looks at the costume for long seconds before he rips off the flimsy wrapper, exposing the heavy embroidered satin. He touches it with his fingertips, stroking, giving a quick shiver at the roughness of the gold thread. He imagines Nico sprawled on top of it, considers how the scratch of embroidery and the slippery-smoothness of the fabric would feel rubbed against Nico's bare skin.

Catching his breath, Adrian strips off his shorts and t-shirt. He stands naked, indecision returning, then pulls the costume towards him and gets dressed. The satin slides over his body, thicker and heavier than he remembered, rubbing at his flesh in a strange caress. The cloth falls just so, the tunic ornate and formal and weighted by the embroidery, while the trousers drape and flutter, gathered softly at the ankle. He plumps out the striped turban and settles it on his head. The paste jewels flash in the morning light, the feathers bobbing as he moves to the mirror to admire his reflection. He stares at himself, living the lie. It makes him uncomfortable, but the transgression is exciting, too.

He drops his gaze and stares at his feet. They're bare. He has shoes, gold-embroidered slippers that match the outfit. He starts towards the wardrobe, knowing the slippers will be lined up in a box somewhere, but a sound from the doorway makes him pause.

Nico stands on the threshold, the wooden box in his hands. His eyes widen and his lips curve in an appreciative little grin before he drops his head and performs a sort of curtsey, murmuring, "Your Highness."

Adrian struggles not to laugh. He manages an imperious wave. "Put it over there."

"What's inside? Sex toys?" Nico flashes Adrian a cheeky look as he carries the box over to the bed.

"Be silent, slave." Adrian sweeps around in a half circle, the tunic swaying with the movement. He's self-conscious, aware that their play is shared, afraid that Nico will call a halt and humiliate him at any moment. He approaches the bed with slow, cautious steps, still Adrian, not yet a maharajah. He sits, gesturing for Nico to do the same, and is surprised when Nico kneels on the floor. Adrian kicks himself inwardly. He should've thought of that, should've demanded it.

Nico seems to sense Adrian's uncertainty. "Slaves should always anticipate their master's request," he says softly.

"Yes. They should." Adrian clears his throat, hoping his confusion won't show on his face. He turns his attention to the box, resting his hands on top before he flicks open the catches. He waits until Nico leans forward, and then flips back the lid to reveal an assortment of items—cotton balls, plastic bubbles of lube, a pair of scissors, several loose plasters, and a bottle of nail polish.

Nico makes a small sound, a comment bitten off before it can leave his lips. He reaches into the box and picks out the nail polish. He tilts it, gaze on the thick, sparkly liquid. It's rose-pink, the exact same shade as Adrian's trousers. Turning the bottle in the light, he looks into Adrian's eyes. "May I?"

There's no mockery there, no judgement. Adrian holds out his hands. "Yes."

Nico shakes the bottle before he unscrews the top. He draws the brush out carefully, frowning in concentration, and examines the consistency of the polish. Adrian realises he's done this before, and wonders when and with whom. Lewis doesn't seem the type for painted nails. Perhaps Nico has had practice painting his own nails. The thought warms Adrian, creates a frisson of anticipation.

Adrian's always been proud of his hands. His nails are neat, cut short and straight below the tips, a pianist's nails, a man's nails. His hands are almost perfect, except for the small damage he does to the cuticles of his little fingers. The rose-pink polish can only improve almost-perfection.

Nico sets the polish on the floor, loads the brush, dabs the excess on the rim of the bottle, then he sways forwards and takes Adrian's left hand. Slowly and with delicate, measured strokes, he paints Adrian's nails—a single stripe down the centre of each nail followed by a stripe either side. He's neat, careful, making sure the polish doesn't clog or drip.

Adrian watches, his body tightening deliciously. He likes being pampered. It's only a small thing, but it pleases him, and Nico's attention to detail excites him all the more. Adrian enjoys the feel of the polish on his nails, the slight heaviness, the shine of colour. It looks good on him, and pride blossoms, warming his arousal.

When the left hand is finished, Nico blows over the nails with a warm whisper of breath before he starts on the right. Adrian keeps both hands still, inhaling the smell of the polish and the scent of Nico's hair and skin. Sunlight dazzles around them, and Adrian's breathing becomes sharp, erratic. His cock twitches beneath the heavy layer of his costume. He feels more like a maharajah now, rich and indolent, with his pretty slave-boy at his feet ready to cater to his every whim.

All of his nails are painted. Adrian can feel the polish drying. The sensation transforms him.

Nico replaces the cap on the bottle and looks up, gaze hot. He brushes back a strand of hair; opens his mouth, licks his lips. "Now what?"

"Stand," Adrian says, and his voice sounds strange, rough and hungry, the voice of another man, a maharajah. He fixes Nico with his gaze. "Strip."

"Mm." Nico shivers quickly, grinning as he gets to his feet. He crosses his arms and pulls up the hem of his t-shirt. "Adrian—"

"Quiet." The command raps out, sharper than intended.

Nico stares, arms tangled in the t-shirt. "Oh. Oh, yeah."

Adrian makes a peremptory gesture, and Nico hurriedly takes off his t-shirt, kicks aside his trainers, pulls off his socks, and slides out of his jeans and shorts. He stands in front of Adrian naked except for the cluster of bracelets around his right wrist. Pleased with the view, Adrian decides to let him keep them on.

It's funny—nakedness always makes Adrian feel vulnerable, but Nico's clearly enjoying it. Or maybe it's the attention he's enjoying, the weight of Adrian's gaze upon him. A good slave-boy knows his worth, and Nico flaunts himself, his cock half hard, bouncing as he takes a confident step closer to the bed.

"Come here," Adrian says, pushing the wooden box as far away as possible, "Sit on me," and Nico obeys.

He straddles Adrian's lap, knees pressed tight to Adrian's thighs. Nico gives a little groan as he rubs against the embroidered tunic, his nipples catching on the rough threads. The heat of his body burns through the satin. Adrian curves both hands under Nico's arse, gripping tight, digging hard into the firm flesh with his fingernails until Nico jumps and quivers in response.

"You want to fuck me?" Nico demands, looking down at Adrian. "Tell me you want to fuck me."

Adrian quashes his annoyance at such pushiness. "When I'm ready."

Nico half moans, half laughs. "Yes, Your Highness."

With care, Adrian shuffles back on the bed, taking Nico with him. Once they're settled, he removes his hands from Nico's arse and places them, palm down, on the quilt. He leans his weight through his hands, Nico perched on top of him. They stare at each other, Adrian patient, Nico puzzled.

"What..." Nico begins, but Adrian lifts a hand, hushes him with a finger placed over his mouth.

Nico falls silent, confusion fading as Adrian strokes his finger over Nico's lips. Over and over, tracing the top lip, then the softer cushion of the bottom lip. Adrian likes Nico's mouth. He likes it when Nico smiles and laughs. He likes the sulky pout best of all. Adrian spreads his fingers over Nico's mouth and admires the contrast of his nail polish against the pale pink of Nico's lips. Then, carefully, Adrian presses down with his nails, just enough to feel the give of Nico's lips, the plump softness of flesh pushed against teeth.

Adrian's breath comes faster. Nico wriggles, pulls back a little and flicks his hair. He licks his lips again, tongue darting over the places where Adrian's nails rested.

"Come here," Adrian says, and gently runs his nails down Nico's chin to his throat. Keeping his touch light so it leaves no marks, Adrian draws delicate scratches over Nico's throat and neck.

Nico shivers in response, a muffled groan breaking from him. The noise rumbles into a purr when Adrian continues the scratching over his collarbones and under his left armpit. There, in the warmth of skin and hair, Adrian digs in his nails.

"Ah." Nico laughs. "It—tickles. But it doesn't tickle. Ooh." Another shiver rolls up his spine. Goosebumps rise on his arms and his nipples tighten.

In response, Adrian uses both hands to caress over Nico's chest. He claws his fingers, nails scritch-scratching with varying pressure over and around the nipples. This time it's hard enough to imprint faint lines of pink on Nico's skin, and Nico catches his breath, starts to rock and buck, moving and squirming on Adrian's lap, jolting against Adrian's erection.

A smear of nail polish rubs across Nico's chest. Adrian checks his nails, sees the tiny dents in the pristine gloss, then drops his hands down to Nico's thighs. He rakes his nails up and down, soft at first and then hard, hearing the soft scraping sound of his nails against Nico's skin. He rests his hands on the top of Nico's thighs, separating his fingers as if playing chords on the piano, judging distances with care, and then he presses down hard. When he lifts his hands, he leaves behind perfect crescent-shaped markings.

Nico's sweating now, twisting so he can rub his cock against Adrian's belly, his eyes half-lidded and gleaming with lust. "Please," he gasps. "Please, Adrian."

Adrian gropes across the quilt for the box, scatters through it until he pulls out one of the bubbles of lube. He digs in again with his nails, piercing the bubble, and squirts the smooth, cool gel over his fingers. Reaching between Nico's spread thighs, Adrian slips his fingers between Nico's balls and arsehole and strokes over the sensitive patch of skin.

"God. Fuck." Nico jack-knifes in Adrian's arms, hips slamming, grinding, his body shaking. He clings to Adrian's shoulders, fingers clawed tight enough to hurt. His mouth hangs open. "Yes. Do it. Whatever you want."

Adrian drops back, lies flat on the bed. Nico tumbles after him, thighs splaying wider. Adrian moves his hand, slides wet fingers up the crack of Nico's arse. He pauses, rimming Nico's hole with a fingertip, then thrusts the digit deep inside.

Nico stiffens, gasping. His eyes scrunch tight. He rubs hard against the gold embroidery on the tunic. He's making mewling noises, shoving back onto Adrian's finger, screwing himself tighter, his whole body jerking.

Adrian adds another finger, working in and out. He varies the rhythm, short stabs then longer slides, and when Nico quivers and moans and begs for more, Adrian gives him a third finger, stretching him wider.

Nico yelps, shakes, and comes all over the maharajah's gold-embroidered tunic.

Adrian pulls him down, drags Nico against the soiled fabric and holds him there, rocking against him, cock thrusting through the layers of satin and thread. Nico murmurs, angling down hard on top of Adrian, raising himself up on his hands, body arching to increase the pressure over Adrian's pulsing cock. Nico dips his head and kisses Adrian; bruising lips and the hot, sudden plunge of tongue. Adrian sucks on it, draws him down further, fucking, grinding, dropping into a blazing climax.

Wet heat spreads, sticky between them. Nico lies on top of Adrian, aftershocks flickering through their bodies, Nico's breath a warm, ticklish caress against Adrian's neck.

"How did you know to do that?" Nico asks eventually. "The thing with your nails, I mean. Where did you learn that?"

Adrian chuckles. "Vijay gave me a present when I joined the team. A joke present, maybe, but I studied it all the same."

Nico raises his head, amusement and realisation glinting in his eyes. "The Kama Sutra?"

Adrian grins. "The Kama Sutra."


End file.
